


domesticity

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Female Pronouns for Grell Sutcliff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-03 22:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Compilation of various grelliam tumblr prompts





	1. leisurely logic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine person A of your OTP falling asleep on the couch when Person B gets home, they’re torn between joining person A, covering person A with a blanket or just carrying them to bed."

She’s asleep on his couch. Again. The third time in a month. William sighed, hanging his overcoat on the stand before ignoring Sutcliff for the moment and entering his bedroom.

His pyjamas were missing from his bed, as were a pair of winter socks from his drawers, and one of his spare pillows from the linen closet. Honestly.

It wasn’t as if her house had no heating, or she lacked a place to sleep. It wasn’t as if her flat was uninhabitable, and certainly no threat prevented her from accessing it.

She gave a small shiver, squeezing the pillow closer and burrowing her face into it.  _I should fetch her a blanket_ , he thought,  _or would it be better if I carried her to the guest bed_? Body heat was also an option, though that thought turned him red-faced and weak-kneed.  _Honestly,_ he chided himself,  _just make the logical choice._

* * *

Grell rubbed her eyes, pawing in the general direction of the coffee table for her glasses. Her palm met soft fabric instead, warm to the touch. She sat up in alarm and someone made a displeased groan, curling away from the movement.

Giggling softly, Grell slid back beneath the warm quilts and spooned against the broad curve of his back. Resting her chin atop his head, she pressed a kiss to his dark hair before closing her eyes.  _Idiot._


	2. titian red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine that Person A offers themselves to brush people B’s hair, and keeps thinking on how wonderful their hair feels between their fingers."

“May I?” It’s both an invitation and a veiled command as he holds out the tortoise-shell brush. She’s exhausted and exasperated enough to nod wearily and turn her back to him. 

It’s raining outside, the water heavy against his windows, loud enough to drown the crackling of the fire in the hearth. It’s half-past two in the morning and she came to him an hour ago drenched to the core, with her spirits just as sodden, after a grueling shift. She’s showered and clean, now dressed in one of his plain yet fluffy bathrobes, and trying to tame her hair into submission.

Hairdryers had been one of her favourite inventions, but it could only do so much to the fine carmine strands that liked to bundle and tangle and knot. She’s irritated and tired and he wants to help.

The bristles are soft against her scalp and his touch gentle as he smoothes the hair into a slick fall of red. Her hair is her pride and joy, and it’s always fascinated him.

It reminds him of Titian ladies and Pre-Raphaelite maidens with their wild hair and untamed, mysterious gazes.

It reminds him of fine silk threads from the Orient, dyed with thousands of safflowers to achieve their brilliant bloody hue. It feels much the same, he notes, as he runs his fingers through the strands.

It looks and feels much like the rest of her- deceptively silken soft, yet passionately fiery and seductive and as mad as mad can be.


	3. fuss and bother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine your OTP fussing over each other’s hair and clothing."

“Be an angel, would you kindly?” She’s looking over her shoulder, great swaths of red locks in her hands as she scoops them away from her neck. A [heavy gown](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m32m4xUrWm1rocjwyo1_500.jpg) of cardinal red velvet and delicate black lace drapes from her frame. 

“Of course.” He obliges, standing behind her so he can begin the intricate process of looping the fifty tiny black pearl buttons into place. They run along her spine from nape to tailbone, standing in a neat dotted line. William admires their precision tailoring, tracing the long slope that dips and curves down her back.

When she turns to him, she returns the favour, buttoning his crisp white shirt. Reaching out to snatch the silk from her dresser, she loops a tie around his neck and pulls the Windsor knot to sit in the hollow of his throat, before folding down his collar.

“There.” Her voice carries a giggle and her eyes admire him with something akin to pride and endearment all at once. He hopes he’s mirroring her expression to convey his admiration, but he isn’t sure. Emotions have never been his strong point. 

He cups her face and kisses her, just in case.


	4. Crème Brûlée

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: sweet & William

As expected, the home of Director William T. Spears was a modernist, minimalist creation with every article placing function before form. It was no surprise the youngest Reaper to ever assume the mantle of Director of the London Division lived in surroundings as orderly as his demeanour belied. He even possessed shelving that housed nothing but his tea collection in identical black tins with scripted labels.

Promotion after promotion soon meant he became a frequent traveller and on each of his frequent travels he would pick up a tea recommended by the locals.  Dealings with the Oriental Divisions led to his tea collection broadening with rice teas and green teas, but he mostly favoured the flavoured ones that required milk. He wasn’t too fond of sweets unless they came in the form of tea.

The sweetest tea in his possession was bought in Paris during a summit, upon the insistence of his French counterpart.  Crème Brûlée, a French dessert, rarely interested him but he discovered it rather delightful when the flavours were converted into a black tea topped with milk.

He found himself reaching for it to finish pleasant days when the office ran smoothly and Grell Sutcliff actually turned her paperwork in on time. Or whenever Grell behaved and caused minimal fuss, bidding him goodnight with a smile. Or whenever Grell Sutcliff and he played piano after hours in the empty Recreation Room. Or whenever Grell Sutcliff returned from a late retrieval and gifted him with pastries from Ladurée at Harrods. Or times like today, when he drove her home and she squeezed his hand, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek in gratitude after walking her to her door.

It was mildly startling to realize he only reached for the sweet tea whenever he thought of Grell. He poured himself a cup of crème brûlée and brushed it off as coincidence.


	5. smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: smile & William

It became somewhat of game, with money and favours involved, to see who could coax a smile from the ever stoic Dispatch Manager William T. Spears.

Slapstick gags would only incur cocked brows and steely looks, as Ronald learned, and sharp witty literature references earned a nod but no smile, as Alan learned, and getting him drunk only resulted in overtime, much to Eric’s frustration.

Grell had attempted all three methods over the long course of the year, in many different forms, and still no smile. He was capable of it, once upon a time, for Grell remembered the quirk of his lips and the pride in his posture upon receiving his glasses at the end of graduation.

“I give up.” She sighed dramatically, setting the tray on his desk before she slumped in the spare chair. “This is mightily exhausting.”

Receiving no reaction, Grell dejectedly reached over and poured cups of fragrant honey-pear tea for them both on their brief morning break. The sweet scent rose and filled the office, and she had to admit that with the rain pounding ceaselessly against the windows and William framed in lamplight and London greys, it was… _nice_.

He took his cup without looking up from his paperwork, pausing to inhale the tea’s wondrous aroma before blowing softly to cool it. Oh William, such a difficult man to win over, Grell thought to herself as she took her own cup from the tray.

Closing his eyes, he took a sip of tea and the tightness in his shoulders seemed to ease just a little. He looked up, catching her watching him, and offered a brief quirk of his lips.

“Thank you Grell.”

She felt her heart skip a beat and her breath hitched in her throat. Well now. The boys owed her some money.


	6. Apodyopis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "{Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.
> 
> Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.}"

 The last time she had worn full regalia had been their graduation, and even then she had the audacity to wear red trouser socks. Today, begrudgingly, she had taken up the regalia again along with her colleagues for his formal ceremony.

Director William T. Spears had a nice ring to it, even he had to admit.

The ceremony was long and included many speeches and yet all he could concentrate on was the fine figure Grell cut in her uniform. She was so seldom appropriately dressed that to see her in the imposing midnight blues and silvers caused somewhat inappropriate curiosity in him.

Beside her Ronald fidgeted with his cuffs and shifted restlessly, eager to get away. They wore the same uniform but on Grell he could see where she’d discreetly tailored it to cling a little better and clutch a little tighter. Her hair had been swept away from her face and braided intricately down her back, exposing the column of her neck.

His mind wandered, as did his eyes, down the length of her body. He knew the layers of that uniform, having worn one himself. He knew the coat with its fringe and cord and brass buttons and folded tails. He knew the waistcoat with ten buttons and the dress shirt with eighteen buttons and the soft undershirt that pressed up against the torso. He knew the trousers and the braces, the socks and their sock garters. He knew she wore Parisian lace knickers.

He knew her body intimately, which only maddened him further to see it clothed so finely. She looked breathtaking in that uniform and yet all he wanted to do was to peel it off her, layer by layer, and kiss the smooth buttermilk skin beneath.

She caught his gaze briefly and gave him a mischievous wink. Perhaps he had not been so discreet in his observations, but her smile informed him she did not mind one bit.


	7. Strikhedonia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”

Promotion came with perks, and the biggest perk was the biggest private office in the entire headquarters. It had locks and heavy curtains and soundproof walls- all very crucial when one was busy relieving the other of their clothing amidst clumsy, messy, wet kisses.

“You were watching me the whole time, you naughty creature.” Grell chides breathily and he won’t have it, no, he jams his mouth to hers and he won’t be scolded when he can be kissed instead.

She’s giggling into his kisses, and the giggles turn to moans and little laughs and they’re stumbling onto the couch- another perk of the promotion.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Director Spears.” She smiles anything but sweetly, and her hands are doing incredibly inappropriate things to him- things he’d never permitted during work hours in his office before.

But being Director did have its perks, and the best one was the pleasure of doing exactly as he pleased. 


	8. Mamihlapinatapei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move"

He knew she watched him with a gaze that exceeded a cursory glance. She always had a hopeful look in her eyes, as though she wanted to ask for more than payment for the coffee and newspaper, and know more than what he thought of the weather or his health or his plans for the weekend.

He wanted to know all about her too, more than the common knowledge she owned the establishment with her brother, and lived the colour red.

He realized he must have looked at her with hope in his eyes too and words, so many words in his head but not on his tongue; words like ‘would you like to have dinner’, ‘I find you fascinating’, and ‘please sit with me today and let us have coffee together’.

Each morning he would scrape together as much courage as he could find, but each morning he failed to extend their exchange beyond ‘fair’, ‘well’ and ‘not much, thank you’.

William hoped she would still hope beyond today and keep hoping tomorrow and the day after that and after that, until he could blurt out the right words because she lived the colour red and in his dull, colourless life, he wanted her to paint it with passion.


	9. sacred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: sacred

It was easy to forget Grell Sutcliff differed from the rest of them;  something dark and sinister simmered beneath her layers of makeup.

It was easy to forget when she spent most of her days teaching Ronald to be mischievous or causing a ruckus with Eric or teasing Alan. Even William, who had known her for the longest time, often forgot something separated her from the others. 

But when she was deployed by the Tactical Division on solo missions, everyone knew to keep their distance.

Grell Sutcliff was a monster in the guise of a madman (madwoman?) and whilst it was so easy to forget that on a day to day basis, on some nights she would remind them all in a shower of red.

The agonised, dying cries of the Demon would cause Londoners nightmares for weeks.

William visited her the moment she resurfaced from sedation, helping prop her up with pillows in the hospital bed.

“Hello darling.” She greeted with a bright smile and a wavering voice. “What a sight for sore eyes you are.”

“Good evening, Grell.” He scooted the chair closer and her smile broadened.

“Come to visit this tired old monster?”

“Come to visit a friend.” William corrected, and her gaze softened. 

“Ah Will.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You’re warming up in your old age.”

“And you’re becoming more reckless.”

“No more than what the Division asks of me, my love.” Grell quipped, and that sinister darkness brimmed beneath her joviality. 

“You were gone for a month.”

“It was a tricky little bugger to hunt down.”

“It was an S Class Demon.”

“Keyword there is ‘was’. Past tense.” Grell closed her eyes tiredly, her smile loosened into a quirk of her lips. 

They were not Gods- far from it. They could not permit mortals to cheat Death, they could only postpone it if the reasoning were good enough. They themselves were not exempt from it, either. It was that which frightened William whenever she was deployed.

She was not a God, but out of all of them she was the closest to one. She was like the Gods of old, not the new God, not the Christian God who was benevolent and forgiving. She was blood and war and wrath and destruction. She was feared and respected, begrudgingly, out of that fear.

“Did I worry my William?” Grell cooed, holding out her hand expectantly. Though he rolled his eyes, he reached for her hand with his own. 

“Recover quickly. I will not have you dallying about in the Infirmary when there is work to be done.”

“Ah, there he is. Director Stick-in-the-mud Spears.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it, and he shivered at the touch on his bare skin. He’d removed his gloves to wash his hands as per medical protocol dictated, and left them off.

Though her kiss was warm, the rest of her was cold from bloodloss and her skin pale from the effort of healing. Gauze patches and bandages littered her body, some pinked with blood. 

Yes, she worried him. Constantly.

He squeezed her hand, pressing it over his heart as he leaned over and kissed her.

If she was the closest thing to a God for him, then her life was something sacred, something to worry over, something to covet and yes, something to fear too. 


	10. odds and ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: odds and ends

She collects people the way people collect trinkets. Along the grand length of time her life traverses, the ones with whom she shares treasured moments are the ones she adds to her family.

They may not think much of themselves, but to her they were special. Perhaps they did not fit in with everyone else, perhaps they fit in too well and were lost in the crowd – perhaps they sought someone just like her.

He had been assigned as her exam partner, and they’d loathed each other the moment their eyes met. She bossed him around; he ignored her. He tried to do it alone; she saved him. She loved him; he questioned why, but kept her close nonetheless.

Eric had been her first pupil, and he met her stubbornness with equal stubbornness of his own. He was brash and brutal, and she moulded him into a both a lover and a fighter.

Alan had been  _Eric’s_  first pupil, and they did not get along cordially at first. She shepherded him under the guise of a knowing senior, and managed to coax the reserved youth into becoming braver, stronger, and passionate. When Eric looked at Alan with softened eyes, she coaxed him to love without inhibitions, for tomorrow was never guaranteed even for a Reaper.

Ronald had been her next pupil, and she adopted him much like one adopts a stray puppy who follows them home. He was bright and eager, and she honed him into something smooth and sharp. He can charm ladies into bed with a grin, and he can swiftly behead a Demon with a well-timed swing of his Scythe.

He is dull and colourless, and doesn’t think he’s really changed much from when they’d been exam partners. He still prefers solitude and silence, and is glad to pass hours away reading by firelight. He thinks were it not for her, he would still be a solitary figure lost in the sea of black suits.

His life would be still and stagnant instead of splashed with red and heat had she given up on his reluctance to socialize. His flat would house only one instead of two, and his bed single rather than double. There would be only one set of everything, and no one with whom to exchange goodnights and sleep wells and sweet dreams and see you in the mornings.

He wouldn’t really have gotten to know studious Alan or brash Eric or mischievous Ronald without Grell bringing them all together. No witty literary quips or deep conversations over Scottish whiskey or learning of new technological advancements in the mortal realm.

She collects people that are odds and ends.

William reaches into his pocket for the umpteenth time and runs his fingers over the smooth velvet box.

He hopes to add a ring to her collection.


	11. suitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Will wandering around with a big red kiss mark on his cheek because no one bothered to tell him that it was there

It was none of his business, what the Director did out of work hours, and Alan himself was a very private man who kissed but never told.

However, it was a different thing when one’s boss turned up to work with a very telling red mark on his jawline. Above his crisp white collar was a smudge of lipstick on his skin, and little thought was to be had as to whom could have left such a mark.

Everyone knew the Director and Captain Sutcliff were an item, but no one dared to bring up such a fact in case it brought on one of the Director’s cold glares.

What to do? Alan considered himself on very good terms with Director Spears, perhaps even  _friendly_  terms, and he thought it an obligation to inform the man to save him from embarrassment.

“Good morning sir.”

“Agent Humphries.” William nodded politely, thumbing through the folders on his desk before offering Alan’s cases for the day. 

“Thank you sir.” He received them with a smile and a nod in return, before his eyes flickered over the red kiss on William’s jaw. “Uh-”

“Was there anything else, Alan?”

_Think Alan, think! Quickly now!_

“How is Captain Sutcliff today?" 

 _Wrong_. Alan flinched as William cocked a brow, knowing that was beginning to prod into personal space.

"Fine. You can ask her yourself if you require more details.” His tone turned brisk and Alan felt his cheeks burn.

“H-have a good day, sir.” He bowed and hastily retreated to his desk.

* * *

 

“Boss!” Ronald poked his head into William’s office with a grin. “What have you got for me today?”

“Two cases in town and one by the docks.” William tapped the folders on the end of his desk, only glancing up once as Ronald sauntered into the room. “You’ll overlap with Agent Slingby and Agent Humphries for the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” The young Reaper flopped onto the chair, snatching up the folders and having a quick flick through. “We’ll be done by seven though, yeah?”

“That depends entirely on you, Ronald.”

“Seven it is, then.” He grinned, chuckling soon after he saw the lipstick on William’s skin. “Bet you’ll have plans at seven too, eh Boss? Picking up where you left off?”

William’s only reply was a dangerous narrowing of his eyes, and Ronald held up his palms in surrender before trotting out of the office.

* * *

 

“You sure the Pup needs to tag along?” Eric queried, one hand jammed in his pocket and the other tapping the case folder on his shoulder rhythmically.

“Yes.” William gestured at the other empty teacup in a silent offer to the Scotsman, who declined politely. “The rigging will break and the falling cargo box will kill two and injure another. Give the case to Ronald to decide if the man will live or die.”

“Alrigh’.” The man shrugged, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms. “You sure he’ll be a good judge o’ character?”

“He needs to learn either way. I can’t have him following Sutcliff all the time.” The Director blew on his tea to cool it. “Her last pardoning of a soul was about three decades ago.”

“The soul was Queen Victoria, though." 

"Yes it was.”

Eric grinned, making sure William was looking at him as he flicked his thumb along his jawline to indicate the mark on William’s skin. The Director only blinked, brows creased quizzically. 

“Catch you later, Boss. If Grell doesn’t catch you first.” He whistled a cheery tune as he left the break room, William’s face still wearing a mask of confusion.

* * *

 

Every soul was accounted for, and every report was filed on time. William breathed a sigh of relief as he signed off on the last report. Another long day at the office, but at least he’d only had to complete an hour of overtime.

Their youngest Reaper had judged the soul in question as unimportant, and Ronald Knox had clocked off exactly at seven.

“That better be the last one.” Came an impatient voice by the door.

“Yes, it is in fact my last.” William answered, knowing very well Grell would be standing there with her hands on her hips.

“Good!” Her tone brightened immediately and she skipped over to his desk, leaning in to kiss him fondly. “Let’s go home. I’m in dire need of a big bubble bath and a glass of red and another helping of  _you_.”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling a blush tickle his cheeks. Grell laughed at his discomfort, hopping away before he could swat her in annoyance, and fetching his coat from the rack.

"Red looks good on you, has anyone ever told you that?” She teased, helping him into the thick woollen overcoat before looping his scarf around her own neck. 

“Only you, only a thousand times.” William rolled his eyes. She giggled, smudging the red away on his jaw with her thumb.

“Well it does, and one day you’ll believe it.” Grell declared, with a wink. “But until then, I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”


End file.
